Beverly Byrne

by Come Sunrise

  She poured the thick black brew into a tin mug, the only thing available, and watched anxiously while he tasted it. He didn't seem to find it too bad. "I wonder if this ranch was named for the pueblo," she said. "Or vice versa."

  "Neither," Rick told her. "They were both named for St. Dominic. That's what the name means in English. But you probably know that."

  She shook her head. "No, I didn't, I've just never asked. It's funny actually. My husband's brother is studying to be a Dominican priest. He's in their novitiate back east."

  Rick looked surprised. "You're Catholics? I didn't know."

  "My husband is. I'm not much of anything. Are you a Catholic?"

  "Nominally," Rick said. "Like you, I'm not really much of anything." He turned and studied the crumbling wall of the main house and changed the subject. "I remember this place in the old days. It was beautiful when I was a child. Once we came here for a fandango. "

  "What's that?"

  "A dance, a fiesta. A big party with everyone for miles around."

  "Have you lived here all your life?"

  "Oh, yes." He put down his empty mug, and they strolled slowly to where he had tethered his horse. "My nine-times-great-grandfather is supposed to have been the natural son of Don Diego Vargas, a great conquistador and one of the first governors of Santa Fe. According to the story Don Diego sent his love-child to Spain to become a physician. Later the boy returned, and the men of my family have had the job every since."

  He smiled at her, and she noticed his eyes again. He had dark thick lashes. "We are perhaps without ambition. We just keep doing the same thing."

  "I don't think I'd describe it that way," she said. "Did you learn medicine in Spain? I hear traces of it in your speech."

  Rick chuckled. "No, nothing so romantic. Johns Hopkins in Maryland. As for my speech, my mother was from Mexico City. When she married my father she spoke no English. Later she learned, but we used Spanish at home. It was my first language."

  Rick untethered his horse, and Amy held the reins while he swung into the saddle. "Just keep doing what you're doing," he told her. "You're thriving, so it must be the right thing."

  "And I can keep riding?"

  "For a while longer, yes. I'll be back in a month, perhaps less. We'll talk about it again then."

  "Rick, before you go, there's one more thing I want to ask." She bit her lip and he waited patiently. "DeAngeles," she blurted out. "He must have been your patient. He said he was selling because of ill health. Was it true?"

  Ibanez looked from her to the ruined house and back again. "Doctors aren't supposed to discuss their patients. I'm sorry." Then, when he saw her embarrassed expression: "He wasn't sick, not the way you mean. But he was sick in his heart."

  Rick wore a broad-brimmed black hat that tied under his chin. He pushed it to the back of his head. "DeAngeles was born here in the last of the old, great days, when Santo Domingo was known simply as el rancho, the ranch. It was a magnificent spread and the men who owned it, Senor DeAngeles' father and grand-father, they were kings. When the son's turn came it had all changed. Government regulations, trains instead of cattle drives, everything was different. So he moved in there"-Rich nodded toward the shed-"and let it all fall to pieces around him. He really was sick, but it was nothing I could cure with tonics or treatments. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, I think so. And thank you. I want to know everything about this place. It's very important to me. Some day I'll tell you why."

  "I will like to know," he answered quietly. "And in the meantime, if you need me for anything at all, send Diego. I will come. Adios, Amy."

  She watched him ride away until she could see nothing more, Then she turned and studied the house and tried to imagine what it must have looked like when it was full of beautiful happy people come for a fandango.

  Later she found an opportunity to question Diego. "Don Rico is a very good doctor, isn't he?"

  "In the pueblos the old ones think he's a god."

  "And do you?"

  "He's a good doctor. And a nice guy. Been here all his life."

  "Yes, so he told me. He must be married. Is his wife a local girl?"

  "She was. She's dead. Died three years ago. He has a daughter. Estella, I think her name is."

  "How old is she?"

  "Three, I guess."

  He looked away, and Amy realized that he didn't want to say that Don Rico's wife had died in child-birth. Diego must know she was pregnant. Talk of the doctor had apparently given it away. In fact, she thought, there are few details of our life secret from Diego.

  "Diego tells me some doctor came to see you," Tommy said that evening after they had eaten. "Are you sick?"

  "No, I'm pregnant. I told you that."

  "I haven't forgotten what you told me."

  They had not mentioned the baby or her ultimatum again. Amy didn't know if her threat had influenced Tommy's subsequent efforts. "Listen," she said, "I want you to know I admire what you've done."

  "Oh, what's that?"

  "The way you've learned to ride, the exercises. I realize it's not easy. I'm grateful."

  "Don't be," he said. "I'm doing it for myself. Don't kid yourself about that." His voice was cold and hard. Amy felt tears sting her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  "We've got to make some money out of this place," Tommy continued. "We can't just sit here, living on capital. It won't last long."

  "I'd like to help," she whispered. "I would if you'd tell me what to do."

  "I don't need you to do anything, sweetheart. You've done quite enough already." The endearment was spoken in the same distant tone as the rest of his words.

  He kicked out the fire without saying anything more. She started to gather up the dishes. "Leave those for the morning," he told her. "Come to bed."

  "It's early. I'm not tired."

  "Neither am I," he said very low. He stood aside and waited for her to precede him into the low-ceilinged hovel that was their home. Then Tommy lit the oil lamp, and Amy smelled its acrid fumes and stared at the black streaks it made on the wall.

  "Get your clothes off," he said. "I want to have a good look at you."

  "Why are you so angry with me?" she whispered. "What I said that night, I was desperate, frightened. Surely you can understand that."

  "Oh, yeah, I understand everything. You're my wife. Do what you're told."

  She unbuttoned the buff twill blouse. These days she wore it outside the skirt because her waist was thickening rapidly. She removed both pieces of clothing and stood in her panties and chemise.

  "Everything," Tommy said. He slouched, arms folded, against the wall.

  Amy hesitated, then looked at Tommy's expression and thought of the whiskey bottles still in the next room. She did as he asked.

  "You're showing quite a bit," Tommy said. "More than I remember the last time. How far along are you?"

  "Three months." She tried to make her voice nor-mal, even bright. "The baby's due in November. They say it always shows faster after the first time."

  "I'm glad, I like the look of you pregnant. I did before too. Just have to keep you that way, I guess." He studied her small delicate feet and her slim ankles. They looked whiter than ever against the dark earth floor. "Barefoot and pregnant, like the old saying. "

  She started to say something, then gave up pretending that this was an ordinary conversation. Instead she shivered.

  Tommy reached out and let his fingers trail over her skin. His hands had grown tough with the efforts of the past month; she could feel his calluses.

  "This is what you're all about, sweetheart," he whispered. "Maybe the only thing you're good for."

  The cot was a few feet behind them, and he pushed her toward it. "Lie down."

  "Tommy, please don't act like this. I don't know what to think! The baby..."

  "I'm not going to hurt the baby. I talked to that doctor in New York before we left. He says it doesn't hurt the baby until just a few weeks before it's born."
He chuckled. "Like they say out here"-he mimicked the southwestern drawl-"you just rest easy in your mind about that, ma'am."

  He leaned over her and put his hands on her belly and traced the outline of the slight mound. "Nice," He said. "I like the way it feels. These are nice too."

  Her breasts were swollen and tender with pregnancy. The nipples stiffened at his touch.

  "I hate you," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I hate you. I'll make you pay...."

  She was sobbing and the words choked in her throat.

  With a loud groan Tommy flung himself on top of her and entered her. She felt his turgid member punishing her flesh. Quick hard thrusts assailed her, there was nothing of love in them.

  "Now you understand," he hissed into her ear after his climax came. "Now you know what you are. You're a whore, sweetheart. A beautiful, pregnant, part-Indian whore. You don't want me, but you've got me. Me, not Luke. I'm going to make sure you never forget."

  She woke soaked in perspiration and alone in the bed. For a few confused seconds Amy thought it had all been a nightmare. The door of the shed was open. A spill of sunlight across the floor illuminated her clothes, lying in a heap where she had dropped them, and she knew the memory was true.

  She rose slowly, expecting to be sore and bruised. She wasn't. Her body exhibited no reaction to the degradation so vividly remembered. She washed and dressed and went outside to stir the embers of the cook fire. The sounds of Tommy's exercises floated over the courtyard. She made coffee and eggs and bacon in a rhythm dictated by the slap of weights hitting the patio floor.

  Tommy emerged. He walked briskly with almost no limp and toweled the sweat from his face. "Don't fix any breakfast for Diego. He left at dawn."

  His voice betrayed no residue of last night's anger. It was simply calm and detached. She tried to make hers match it. "Where did he go?"

  "To his pueblo. He's bringing a woman back. They should be here by lunch."

  "What woman? Why?" She put the eggs on a plate and the yolks broke and ran yellow over the chipped crockery.

  "I don't know her name. Some aunt of his. Jesus, aren't you ever going to learn to fry an egg without breaking the yolk?"

  "Why is he bringing her here?"

  "So there'll be someone with you. Diego and I are riding out. We're going to check the boundary. All of it. And see what we can find of the cows. It's just a preliminary look. We'll need more men to do it right, but I want to see for myself first. "

  "I don't need anyone with me. How long will you be gone?"

  "A week, ten days maybe. You can't be alone that long. Have to look after my investment." He reached out and patted her stomach. The gesture was almost tender. She stared at him and tried to read some explanation in his familiar face. Maybe it had all been a dream after all.

  Tommy pretended not to understand the question in her eyes. "Besides," he added, "maybe this aunt of Diego's knows how to cook. We'll all die from malnutrition if she doesn't. You have charm, Mrs. Westerman, but a chef you definitely are not."

  She picked at the eggs on her plate and felt nauseated. "We can't afford to hire servants."

  There was a long silence, during which he set down his food with slow precise motions. "I thought we settled all that last night. I'm just going to say this once more, sweetheart, so you better listen hard. I decide what we do and when we do it from now on. You look beautiful and have babies. And while we're on the subject, stop wearing those goddamn trousers. Next time I see them I'll burn them. Do you understand?"

  She looked up at him. His face had become sun-burned, and his freckles stood out with greater prominence. They were the only reminder of the boy who had carved the names of her parents on the church wall in Cross River. Apart from them the man staring at her so intently was a stranger. "Yes," she whispered. "I understand."

  Maria, Diego's aunt, was short and round, with long black braids and a face that betrayed neither age nor emotion. But she had kind eyes, and competence. Amy swiftly became accustomed to having her around. Maria made herself sleeping space in one of the unused outbuildings, and took over the more onerous household tasks. Amy felt relief, but had more time to brood.

  Tommy wasn't drunk when he did it, she kept thinking. He said those things and used me that way and he was sober. It was a recurrent pain, an ache of despair and humiliation that would not go away. Two or three times each day of Tommy's absence she heated a pan of water and went behind the shed to scrub her skin; as if she could wash away what had happened. Maria expressed no surprise at this passion for cleanliness, but Amy realized that she was making more work for the woman. The water butt emptied fast, and Maria had to go to the well and haul back buckets with which to refill it. Amy returned to one bath a day.

  On the evening of the eleventh day the men returned. Tommy slid from his horse, and there was a brief moment when Amy thought him drunk. It was only exhaustion. He staggered to the cook fire and accepted the mug of coffee she poured.

  "How did it go?" she asked.

  "Not bad. No, better than that, it went well." His face was seamed with tiredness and dirt, and his clothes were covered in a thick layer of dust. He had a cut on one cheek. "You're improving," he said as he drained the coffee.

  "Not me, Maria made it. I'll heat some water for a bath."

  He emerged from behind the shed in twenty minutes, refused anything to eat, and went inside. Amy followed him. He was sprawled on the cot, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. "I'll let you sleep," she said and turned to go.

  "No," he said. "I'm too keyed up for that. I want to talk to you."

  She sat on a rickety stool and leaned her back against the adobe wall. Suddenly she felt tired too.

  "The land is wonderful, in some places it's fantastic," he said. "There's plenty of decent grazing in the high ground to the east. The first thing we have to do is get a fence around the whole place."

  "Can we?"

  "Yes, why not? The only problem's money. That's one of the things I want to tell you. There's no more than four thousand left of our working capital. I spent the rest in Albuquerque, don't ask me how."

  "I wasn't going to ask."

  "The fence will cost a lot," he said. "I've decided to sell off what cows we have."

  "Did you find them?"

  "We saw a couple of herds. There's probably not more than a thousand left. The way things have been around here they were easy prey for any two-bit rustIer that cared to try his luck. That's spilt milk, what we need now is a quick sale of what we have."

  "Can you get it?"

  "Yes. I've been in touch with Washington. The government is buying all the food it can get its hands on. They'll take whatever we can round up, at thirty dollars a head. It's not a good price, but it's fast, sure money. Lucky for us they decided to have a war."

  "And afterward?"

  "We hire a crew, build the fence, and buy in more stock. We'll keep a few of our original herd for breeding. They were a great strain in their day." He turned and propped himself on his elbow and lit a cigarette. Every time he drew on it Amy could see his eyes in the glow. It made him seem to approach and recede in the dark.

  "I've spoken to some men in Kansas City. In the future we'll breed and raise our cattle, and sell them after three years. It's the only thing that makes sense in a country like this. The guys I'm in touch with have feed lots. They can fatten the cows for market. The housewife back east gets juicy corn-fed beef, and we get a quick turnover and low overhead."

  Now she understood all the hours he had spent brooding, and the unexplained trips to Santa Fe. "It's a good plan. You've spent a long time thinking it out, haven't you?"

  "Yeah. Then, when I found out I couldn't drive the flivver around the spread, I thought we were beaten. Sorry about the hiccup in production."

  Amy started. They were the same words the nurse had used in the hospital in New York. She pressed her hands over her belly and felt the child stir. "It doesn't matter as long as it comes right in the end."<
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  "Agreed." He stretched and stood up. "There are places out there, miles from anywhere, so beautiful it hurts to look at them."

  "I know," she said.

  He lit the oil lamp and looked at her in its dull glow. "Yeah, you knew right away. From the time you saw the picture in the library book." He looked around, as if seeing the shed for the first time. "I'll get you out of here as fast as I can. But the cattle have to take priority."

  Amy watched him lift a jug and start for the water butt.